“Look at my little niece.” Aunt Karla’s beaming as she takes her purse and tote bag out of my hands. “I can’t believe you stood up and volunteered like that.”
We start to walk again. “In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the best idea.”
“She’s jealous. That’s why she got all mad.”
“Jealous? She has everything.”
As we pass by, the door to a coffee shop swings open and teenagers stumble out, carrying a variety of sugary coffee drinks in clear plastic cups with dome lids. I’d ask Aunt Karla if we can grab something, but she’s still mad the shop is even in her neighborhood. Not because she doesn’t like coffee. She said it came only when the white people showed up. I guess being pissed off is her idea of a revolution. We step around the group of teens.
“It’s your very presence, Jerzie. How you think Black Panther would feel if another Black Panther showed up to stare at him all day in case he can’t do the job?”
“But that’s the thing, Aunt Karla! Black Panther would be able to do his job and do it right. I’m not so sure about Cinny.”
“Oh, please.” Aunt Karla waves her hand dismissively. “You think Cinny wants to make a fool out of herself on Broadway? She’ll pull it together eventually.”
“Just sucks to watch her be so rude and disrespectful.”
We turn a corner, moving toward the row of stoops on Aunt Karla’s tree-lined street. Aunt Karla’s job should not afford her to live in this part of town. At least not as a homeowner. Her neighbor is a plastic surgeon. I Googled him when he moved in. Freakin’ millionaire. In fact, Aunt Karla got a bank loan for $350,000 to pay for her brownstone more than ten years ago. Last year...he paid 1.7 million.
“In your line of business,” Aunt Karla says as we continue our walk, “people can be real assholes. Hell, assholes can be found in every line of business.”
“How do you handle it?”
“I do my job, and I do it well. Today, some of the main people who treated me like shit coming up—I’m their boss now. If you’re patient, the universe has a way of balancing things out. Trust the process.”
We’re standing at the base of the stoop that leads to Aunt Karla’s historic brownstone. I get to stay here for the summer, but Aunt Karla has a roommate who gets weird when company visits too long, which makes for lots of annoying run-ins and a slightly uncomfortable temporary living arrangement. But ever since this neighborhood got rebranded and property prices went up, so did Aunt Karla’s property taxes. Now she rents out the master bedroom to make ends meet. Everybody tells her to sell. She’d be a millionaire. She justifies staying put by explaining she has every right to live in her retirement plan.
I follow her up the concrete stoop and wait while she unlocks the outside door. A few seconds later, and we’re through her front door. I drop my bag on the hardwood floor, kick off my shoes, and literally fling myself onto Aunt Karla’s plush brown sectional, which rests against one of the exposed brick walls.
“So is that it?” Aunt Karla moves into the kitchen and washes her hands in the sink.
I don’t reply right away.
“Girl, I will go back outside and lick that utility pole across the street.”
“Fine.” I sit up. “Do you believe in like...love at first sight?”
“Maybe.” She twists off the faucet and grabs a paper towel to dry her hands. “I loved you the first time I saw you.”
“That’s different. You had a nine-month lead-in. Plus, you love your brother. My dad. That’s too easy. I mean like, you see someone. There is literally no connection aside from this first encounter. And you feel this thing. You maybe love them?”
“You mean like the plot of your musical?” She pulls open the refrigerator door, grabs a bottle of water. “Is that why you’re asking?”
I contemplate telling her the truth. That I’m asking because I feel as if I may be a victim to its implausibility. But instead I say, “Yeah, yeah. Like the musical. Like Romeo and Juliet. Maybe they shouldn’t have acted so reckless, you know. Thinking they’re in love. You can’t be in love after a day. And after a moment? How can that be real?”
“I don’t know, Jerzie.” She yanks her long braids out of the bun on top of her head. They fall down her back. “Sometimes I look up at the moon and ask the same question. How can that be real? Life is magical sometimes. I will say that I’ve never experienced anything like that. When it comes to men, they typically gotta grow on me. But I think it’s cool the musical is toying around with the notion. I dig it.” She crosses to join me on the couch, grabbing the TV remote from off the coffee table to flip on her flat screen. “How’s the lead boy by the way? The one playing Roman?”
She hasn’t even said his name, and still, the mere mention of him makes the butterflies wake from their slumber. I’m trying hard to play it cool.
“He was wearing John Varvatos boots, Aunt Karla. Balmain jeans and a Play T-shirt. To rehearsal.”
“Oooh, he sounds fancy.” She twists the cap off her bottle of water and takes a small sip.
“Right? His one outfit cost more than my entire wardrobe.”
“Is this the boy we’re secretly talking about?” She smiles. “Did you fall in love today at rehearsal and forget to tell me?”
“No, no. I’m not talking about him.” I focus my eyes on the giant red NETFLIX icon that’s splayed across the flat screen, hoping Aunt Karla isn’t keyed in to the fact that I’m lying. Falling so hard for a boy I met just moments ago? What if she tells Mom and Dad? What if they tell my brother, Judas? Uggh. He’d never let me live it down. “Besides, I don’t even believe in such a thing. Love at first sight.”
“Is he cute though?”
Is he cute? Ha! He’s the epitome. “He’s all right. His name is Zeppelin.”
“Zeppelin? I heard that name.” She tosses me the remote. “Yeah, I did! I saw him and Nigel when I was coming in to pick you up.”
“You did?” My heart’s revving up again. Down, girl, I think. Steady.
“Mmm-hmm. Big ol’ blue eyes? Dark hair? Pinkish lips.”
“Oh.” I fiddle with the remote. “I’m pretty sure that was him.”
“Jerzie Jhames. That boy was fine. Woo-wee, he stepped off the elevator and I was like, hot damn, who the hell is that?”
“Aunt Karla!”
“What? Don’t worry, I like my men past puberty.”
“He’s past puberty. He’s nineteen.”